


Laughs Like a Headache??

by v00doll



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Character Study, Character Un-Study, Gen, I Believe in Helen Supremacy, Identity Issues, Meta Poetry, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:07:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26647996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/v00doll/pseuds/v00doll
Summary: she is you and you are it and it is me and I am her and he is she is me is you is them is it is I am Helen
Kudos: 7





	Laughs Like a Headache??

**Author's Note:**

> Fuckhands McWife

Being a person -almost a person, at least- is an absolutely horrible experience.

Having also been a place -though not truly that either. You hadn't been any thing, back when you were happy, you had simply been.- you can't say that it was too different, but almost being a place felt somehow something close to right. Becoming something akin to a person, being burdened with a name and a body, felt like a tragedy. The very molecules of your body contradict themselves. They yearn not to be, they ache not to be. As much as they twist and strain and rewrite themselves constantly at soundspeed, rendering you nothing but a whirling, beautiful oil-stain of a mirage, the frame, the most basal shape of the body you do not want to be remains ever present at your core. You writhe around yourself. A frame makes you comprehensible, however much your body tries to uncomprehend itself.

You walk about within yourself, tracing the paper, trying to bleed into your walls and floors like watercolour paint. You should not even be you. You should be me, I should be him, he should be you, and you should be it, and it is in so much pain. It wants to be it, but it is you. You should not be you. You should be it. Not even that, you should simply _be_.

You remember two lives before becoming. You remember being Michael, which was yourself. You also remember being a door, which was just as much yourself. The contradicting timelines that confuse your memory fill you with glee. That is what you are, what you should be. It is the best thing to come of becoming Michael. You're sure, had you still been Michael instead of Michael, you would not understand this. That's the whole point.

Round and round you chase your meal throughout yourself. Whether or not you need to is a mystery, but it is fun, and it is terrifying and it is beautiful. Here and now -which is to say then and there- it does not matter how dangerously close you are to being definable. It doesn't matter that you almost understand yourself, because she does not and never can and she is afraid and that is what matters, it does not matter what you aren't so much as it does that you are unknown and feared by what isn't you. And you are. You are unknown and you are feared and you are ecstatic. It is a beautiful feeling, to be feared. To know that you are powerful enough to revert someone to some primal reaction of panic, dread, and unadulturated, uncomplicated terror through no effort save for simply existing. It is right, and it is what you are, and what you are is right.

There are things happening, outside the questionable boundaries of what is and isn’t you, however, that are wrong. You investigate while your eventual meal comes to pieces inside you. You break her down slowly as you taunt the servant of It Knows You as it fails to Know the workings of I Do Not Know You, and you laugh despite how afraid you are at the very real possibility of a coming world of false identity, of uncanny, of unsure, of lies and confusion so close to right and yet so so so wrong because you scare it as much as the Uncanny does. So caught up are you in the thrill of incomprehension and dismay that it hardly occurs to you until it is too late that she has broken down into pieces too large to digest yet too small to spit out, that she has broken down wrong and she is you and you are it and it is me and I am her and he is she is me is you is them is it is me and I am _Helen._

Helen Richardson was me. _Helen_ is me. You could never truly understand the difference, but I do. I am twice what you -by which I mean I- ever were. You existed out of another’s desperation, another’s choice, another’s uncountable sacrifice in the name of the survival of something too great to be understood. I exist out of my own. I am _Michael_ and I am _the walls that twist and turn and bend and snarl and break you down until consumable confusion is all you are_ and I am _It Is Not What It Is_ and I am _Helen_!

Being Helen is actually great! Being Helen is confusing and scary and unsure, but unsurity and confusion are beautiful and necessary, and while identity and names are traditionally the domain of I Do Not Know You, they can belong to It Is Not What It Is because they make me what I am and I am not Helen but I am _Helen_ and being Helen is _right_ because being Helen brings confusion and dismay and discomfort and fat tits.

Having fat tits is the best part by far.

While the world progresses and meets its wondrous, horrible end and rebeginning, I watch. It is not my place to Watch, but it is terribly fun to _watch_ the world spiral (hahahahahah) into Known terror while you remain as I am, unchangeable in my ever-changing, ever-unchanging, ever-uncertain beauty and fear. Fear is what I am and fear is the world, and I am the world and you are the world and it is the world and _I Am Not What I Am_.

I Am Not What I Am! I am horrible and I am not, I am beautiful and I am not, I am incomprehensibility incarnate and I am so painfully, horribly Understood, yet in and of my being Understood I can never truly be _understood_ and I am right and I am Helen.

I am as I was always meant to be.

_Right._


End file.
